Human And Falling
by DelightMeWithYourScreams
Summary: Tony Stark builds neat stuff, has got a great girl, occasionally saves the world and dreams about the God of Mischief and Lies every night. Sequel to "Wicked And Divine". IRON MAN 3 SPOILER ALERT!


_A flash of lightning blinds him, darkness swallows him._

He shudders and turns and tangles himself more and more in the sheets. They grab his legs and wrap around his torso like tentacles, make him mutter unintelligible things under his breath and furrow his brows in discomfort.

_Green glowing eyes stare at him, red, bruised lips smirk at him._

His hand twitches and clutches at his chest, at the ARC reactor implanted in it. It hums quietly in the dark, warm against his fingertips, its outlines as familiar as an arm could be.

_Cold fingers around his neck, a wicked snarl in his ears. He chokes. He breaks._

He doesn't scream upon waking up; he sits up, digs his nails into the expensive fabric of the bed sheets and tugs so hard he tears them up. His breath is shallow and uncertain, his heart hammers in his chest so loudly it threatens to deafen him – he stares at the black panels covering the windows, only partly aware of what he has just done to the bed linens.

"Tony?"

He startles and looks down at his side with a horrified face, expecting to see a monster lying next to him, but it's only Pepper, watching him through a veil of slumber and confusion. The sight of her – disheveled, still smelling of sex, deliciously naked and beautiful – calms him down and gives him hope he'll remember how to breath correctly sooner or later, maybe after some therapy.

"Hey, Pep," he greets her softly.

On the first nights of that torture, he would just wave off her help and pretend he was alright: after she threatened to leave out of exasperation and he had a minor panic attack at the mere _perspective_, he just stopped making excuses. He wasn't alright; he _isn't_ alright.

"Did you have another bad dream?" she asks, propping herself on her elbow and reaching out to run a hand over his abdomen in a way she knows usually makes him feel safe, only _usually_ doesn't apply to his after-nightmare state, when he is so painfully aware of how real the dream was and how small and powerless he is in comparison.

Tony takes her hand in his own, squeezes it, presses it against his chest. Her fingers are longer and slimmer than his, perfect and clean, whereas his own are often smeared with grease and broken when he stays in the R&D labs for too long – they fit perfectly when they're holding hands.

He doesn't answer, doesn't need to; she already knows and prods cautiously: "Would you like to talk about it, darling?"

"No".

He doesn't take a breath, doesn't think about it twice. Pepper is a great assistant, an even better CEO and the only thing that matters in his world, but there are things he can't tell her. What his nightmares are about, for instance. Or that he doesn't have _nightmares_: he has the same one every single night, as if on a loop.

He dreams about grinning lips, eyes too green and a raspy, smug chuckle.

He has a name on his tongue every time he wakes up and it isn't Pepper's.

"I…" He trails off, tries to finish his sentence, fails. Bad sign. It means he's close, too close to a panic attack. "I'm going to the bathroom".

He practically sprints out of bed, stumbles on the torn sheets, spits an expletive through his teeth and disappears into the adjoining room, fumbling in the darkness to switch on the light. It blinds him momentarily, his head spins and he squints at the man in the mirror until he realizes he isn't hallucinating and that is his own reflection, and he winces. He looks like he hasn't shaved in weeks, has violet shadows under his eyes and his skin is taut and pale on his cheekbones.

"Oh my God, Tony!"

Pepper must have seen his messing with the bed linens. The exclamation is followed by an insistent knocking on the door, but Tony isn't going to open anytime soon, maybe not ever again.

"Open the door," the woman requests, fear and concern latching on her tone.

Tony grabs the edge of the sink and strengthens his grip so much that his knuckles turn white, but he doesn't feel better. He is hyperventilating, his pupils are dilated with terror, his breath comes in short pants. "Not now, Pep," he manages to choke out. "Just— just give me a minute, okay? I'll be fine".

If he can't buy his own shit, how can he expect Pepper to? She's too smart for that.

"Tony, let me in". The silence is so deep now he can hear her sighing softly and it is almost too much to bear. Almost. "_Please_". His determination cracks – Pepper _never _begs, not him, of all people. "Let me in. Let me help. You don't have to deal with it alone".

Tony stares at the living skull in the mirror, the living skull stares back at him with void, dull eyes and shakes his head. He doesn't have to do it alone, but he _can't_ do it with Pepper, either. He puts his resolve back together piece by piece and forces his voice to sound convincing, not shaking and scared like that of a child: "Listen, Pep, I'll be… I'll be back soon. I need to calm down a bit. Trust me".

After all the secrets Tony didn't keep from her – and all the ones he _did_ keep, for that matter – trust has become the woman's weakness. He feels like an asshole for taking advantage of it, but the alternative is too dreadful for any qualm whatsoever to stop him.

Pepper stays silent for a long time. The man knows she's angry, can almost sense the negative energy irradiating from her through the door, wants to open it and pull her in his arms, begging for forgiveness, but the name reverberating endlessly in his mind quells such desire, so he bows his head and takes in the burning resentment in her voice without a single word.

"Fine," she gives in, her voice cutting through the silence like an icicle. "When you need me, you'll find me downstairs".

Angry Pepper is definitely angry when she speaks as though they still have a strictly professional relationship.

Tony listens to the sound of her footsteps fading until he can't hear her anymore, takes a deep sigh and runs a hand through his crumpled hair, the other one over his scruffy goatee. As much as he needs her on his side, he isn't ready to tell her about his discomfort yet.

She'd be loving and tender if she knew how much he fears Loki; she wouldn't, if she discovered he is also drawn to him like a moth to the fire.

In his dreams, the god hunts him, rips his suit apart bit by bit, tears _his flesh_ apart as if he's made of paper, and laughs, laughs hard and long in that creepy way of his, both scathing and genuinely amused.

It is understandable, even consequential, considering what Tony has been through because of Loki – Coulson's death, the war against the Chitauri, the fall from the portal: although the god wasn't directly involved, he was the puppeteer behind it all and this is exactly what terrifies the man so much. The unpredictability, the undecipherable schemes, the thick web of lies is what scares the hell out of Tony, who is afraid of anything he can't turn into data and put in a Cartesian diagram.

What is less understandable is that Loki not only tries to kill him in his sleep, but also caresses him with his deft fingers, teases him with his subtle tongue, seduces him with his knowing, alluring gaze.

Tony dreads him, wants him gone from his mind, and at the same time admires him and wants him, wants to crack him open and find out what makes him so sharp and clever.

He turns on the water and shoves his head under the freezing stream, hoping to clear his mind. _I'm Tony Stark_, he muses like a mantra, like a prayer. _I build neat stuff, got a great girl_. He has to forget about some batshit crazy god living in another dimension. _I'm Tony Stark_. And Iron Man, by the way, meaning he can't be afraid. _I build neat stuff_. Something he should really focus on to protect what it matters most. _Got a great girl_. Which _is_ what it matters most.

When he lifts up his head, water dribbles down his chin, cold drops dash against his fingers, still clasping the sink, and he has to blink water away to clear his vision. When his reflection's eyes meet his own, his heart sinks into his chest.

_Please tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity_, a dark, sensual voice whispers in his ear and Tony spins around, despite being well aware he's still alone. He checks the empty room miserably.

"I'm fucked up".


End file.
